


Deresolution

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Series: Sugar Daddies [4]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Leather Kink, M/M, Prostitution, Shoulder Holster, Stanford Era, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen's relationship with Jared is suffering, and he finds words aren't the best way to apologize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deresolution

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth story in the Sugar Daddies 'Verse. Takes place a month after "Both Seen and Unseen."

**DERESOLUTION**  
Jensen/Jared. [Jensen/Jared/Sam Winchester implied]. NC17.

 

He stands on the corner, skinny hip jutting out past the scarred and pitted brick wall. His posture imitates casual, but his eyes are sharp and wary, set aglow by the headlights of each passing car and narrowing when one slows down. The driver browses from behind the anonymity of tinted windows, mirrored black glass distorting the boy’s reflection. Hip thrust forward, fingers toying with the bottom of a shirt, offering a glimpse. 

But whatever the driver sees isn’t what he wants; the sedan accelerates down the block. The boy sinks further into the building’s shadow, wanting to become one with the darkness. He realizes the night is almost over and knows he hasn’t made enough money.

From the alley across the street, Jensen watches. He’s more interested in the boy’s expression than the way he’s merchandising his body. Jensen already knows he’s not taking this one home; the build is all wrong, not even close to the one Jensen wants to see. There would be arrogance in the boy’s stance, knowledge beyond the street in his eyes.

Still, Jensen recognizes the desperation in this boy’s eyes: dark pools that don’t reflect the neon glare of the streetlights. It’s a broken willingness, a reckless acquiescence that says he’ll do anything for the right price. And Jensen knows that the old adage, _it’s always darkest before the dawn_ , holds especially true for the men and women—many no more than boys and girls—that walk the streets. From the deepest black of night come the true predators, sniffing out that desperation and exploiting it.

Jensen has no desire to see this boy caught up in a spider’s trap, saying yes to the money but ignorant of the strings that come with it. 

And yes, this boy isn’t Sam—the angles are off and the face doesn’t cut so deeply into Jensen’s heart—but Jensen wants to save him from the violent fate that stands to befall him if he stays out much longer. He’ll never question the root of these urges, whether he’s visualizing Sam on that street corner or a younger boy from decades ago who searched for salvation in all the wrong places.

Jensen hadn’t been lucky enough to find guardian angels lurking in the alleyways.

The boy catches sight of Jensen right away, keeping his back to the wall as Jensen crosses the street. Jensen knows his outfit won’t set off any alarms: jeans, white shirt, sport coat. There’s no way the boy could detect the solid weight of the loaded 9mm tucked into Jensen’s shoulder holster, its power a promise made to Jared when his partner refused to drive with Jensen on nights like tonight. And growing up in Texas, Jensen had learned long ago how to conceal a licensed weapon.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Softening his face and smiling, no doubt trying to entice Jensen by looking younger, the boy drops the street answer.

“You can call me anything you want, if you’re paying.”

Jensen remembers the way Sam couldn’t lie—didn’t _think_ to lie—when Jensen asked. Sam was a different species, nothing in common with the boy eyeing Jensen now except the need that bound all creatures like them. The kind of need Jensen will never forget.

As brown eyes search for the catch in his expression, Jensen makes his offer.

***

Jared’s awake.

Jensen hadn’t really expected his partner to go to bed alone, but he feels guilty walking into their dark home and finding Jared on the couch in a pool of dim light.

Shoes off, wallet and keys dropped on the kitchen counter, and Jensen’s wise to the hazel eyes following him. Jared won’t ask where Jensen went, and he won’t bother to check Jensen’s wallet for the three hundred dollars in cash he’d gone out with. Jensen’s grateful that the years they’ve spent together have wrought such a deep familiarity; Jared is fluent in his body’s language.

The safe is in the living room. Jensen has to pass Jared to get to the cabinet and he’s not surprised to hear soft footfalls behind him. Jared reaches for the cabinet door, eyes averted, while Jensen takes the gun from its holster, emptying the chamber and ejecting the magazine. Keying in the code to the safe, Jared steps back and lets Jensen set the weapon inside. When Jensen turns around empty-handed, Jared is slumped on the couch again.

Half in shadow and with his eyes closed, Jared reminds Jensen of Sam. Pointed nose, upswept cheekbones, and his hair flopped across his forehead—no longer slicked back the way Jared keeps it while he’s working. Jensen shakes off the mental overlay, not wanting to look at Jared and see _Sam_. He slips out of his coat, laying it over the back of the couch, and notices that Jared’s eyes are open and focused on the holster Jensen’s currently trying to slip out of.

“Don’t,” Jared says; it’s the first word out of his mouth since Jensen came home.

Jensen’s drops his fingers from the leather and crosses the room as if Jared had called him over. He stands in the ‘v’ formed by Jared’s knees and groin, unresisting when Jared’s long arms reach for the holster, fingers looping between leather and cotton.

As he’s drawn down over Jared’s thighs, Jensen thinks that if Jared’s broad shoulders were outlined in taut brown leather, he’d be reacting the same way. They’re at the mercy of a shared kink that resides deep in their blood. 

With one hand on the leather ‘x’ between Jensen’s shoulder blades, Jared drops the other into Jensen’s lap.

“You’re not hard.”

“I will be,” Jensen promises in a low tone, enticing Jared away from the true meaning behind his statement. Jared looks up and Jensen knows he hasn’t gotten through. “You know I don’t go out there for that.” 

And instead of waiting for a response, Jensen kisses Jared and tastes Rocky Road on his lips, his partner’s favorite late night snack. The sweetness disappears when Jensen’s tongue pushes into Jared’s mouth, past his teeth with a teasing flick to his palate. The tease ends there though as Jared uses the holster to haul Jensen even closer; their chests slam together and Jared’s tongue fights to gain ground.

Holster or no, this isn’t what Jensen wants. He gentles Jared with long strokes across his shoulders and down his arms, coaxing Jared’s tongue to dance instead of dominate. It’s a move he’d used a dozen times with Sam, when their boy jumped too quickly, too eager for a sexual reunion when they hadn’t seen each other in a while. Jensen would kiss Sam in ever deepening strokes, hands soft around his bony elbows, while Jared watched and waited for his chance.

It figures; the good memories are the most painful.

Jensen could easily succumb to the ache of losing Sam, take his anger out on Jared. It wouldn’t be the first time. And it’s tempting—Jared would understand and willingly go along with it.

But Jared mistakes his touch, reading too far into Jensen’s nighttime drives and the melancholy that follows him home.

“You want me to be Sam?”

 _No. No, no, no._ He thinks the word over and over before he manages to say it aloud. He says it once and covers Jared’s mouth again, infusing this kiss with the same passion that’s kept them together for so many years. It’s hot and sensuous, and Jensen’s aware of every hitch and shudder in Jared’s breathing. Jensen wants to replace the pain he’d felt earlier, out on the streets, with something fierce and unyielding. But he understands now that _gentle_ isn’t necessarily required.

Jared strips quickly, latching onto Jensen’s mouth as soon as his lips reappear from the t-shirt he pulls over his head. Two pairs of eager and efficient hands ruck his jeans down to his ankles, where Jared kicks them over the coffee table. When Jensen moves to shrug out of his holster, Jared stops him again, drawing Jensen’s fingers to his chest to help with the column of buttons running down Jensen’s shirt.

The holster stays on, then.

“Makes you look like a badass,” Jared moans, his words lightening the atmosphere.

Going along with the playfulness, Jensen bites at the point of Jared’s chin and asks, “You saying I’m _not_?”

“Corporate badass,” Jared says, extra-large hands cupping Jensen’s head. “Now you’re like a hot cop.” In the next breath, he asks, “Gonna fuck me?”

And just like that, Jensen abandons his notions of steamy roleplay—which could have gotten awkward thanks to the tangled mess of thoughts Jensen can’t rid himself of—and attacks, stripping out of his jeans and flinging them off his ankles to land in the same pile as Jared’s clothing. The shirt stays on, strapped in place by the holster, and Jensen warms under Jared’s appreciative gaze, directed below his waist. Then he’s back over Jared’s lap, rising tall and strong as they hold one another and move in practiced rhythms.

Naked—or mostly naked in Jensen’s case—their cocks rub together with enough friction to start a fire. It borders on painful, the dry grind, until Jared spits in his hand and greases Jensen’s shaft with saliva.

“It’d be wetter if you got down there and sucked it,” Jensen proposes, to which Jared responds by closing his grip and forcing the air out of Jensen’s lungs. He bypasses the idea of getting a blowjob, and settles for arousing Jared to the point of diamond-hardness, tugging on Jared’s nipples and roughing up his pecs until the skin’s pink and crossed with Jensen’s handprints. He attacks the perfect bow of tendon in Jared’s neck when it’s bared to him, sucking wet marks into tanned skin.

Jensen tries not to make the same mistake he did earlier when he’d touched Jared the way he might have touched Sam. Their boy brought out the protector in Jensen—with Sam, Jensen was drawn to the faux innocence, treating each piece of skin with reverence. They could push Sam’s limits, but they never pushed _Sam_ ; his lithe body became an altar and they treated it as such.

But Jensen loves to push Jared, and Jared _lives_ to push back.

They grapple when Jensen tries to push Jared flat on the couch, hands and arms tangled between them, elbows digging into couch cushions. Jensen scrapes his inner arm on Jared’s watch, feels the burn of Jared’s five o’ clock shadow against his throat. Jared’s teeth close around air as he tries to bite Jensen’s wrist before it’s yanked out of his grip. The moment of surprise is enough for Jensen to knock Jared off balance, flipping him face down into the cushions.

The coffee table drawer is stocked with lube—and if that stash runs out, restocking is usually the first thing on their to-do list—and Jensen’s quick to grab the bottle and slick his cock from root to tip, shivering when the cold liquid drips between his balls and down his thigh. He leans over Jared’s broad back, muscles and ridges spread out like a map of places Jensen’s tongue would like to visit, if only he had the time. His cock rules out any detours, and Jensen’s soon got his fingers wet and slippery, rolling down Jared’s spine and over his ass, spreading flesh and working into the space between. Jensen has barely twisted one finger into Jared before he’s nearly bucked off.

Panting, Jared rears back and slaps Jensen’s hand away. “I’m open. Just fuck me.”

“Jay—”

“Don’t fuckin’ argue, Jen,” he says, commanding despite being laid out under Jensen’s weight. “I’m ready.”

He’s not, not entirely, and Jensen quickly thrusts with one, then two fingers before Jared can throw him off like an unbroken stallion.

“Fuck me now or don’t bother,” Jared hisses through clenched teeth, neck angled back so he can fix Jensen with a solid stare. Jensen takes the threat seriously, wiping the rest of the lube over the head of his cock and pressing in. The abundance of slick makes it easier that it should be, but Jared is _tight_. So much so that Jensen has trouble breathing, feeling the same constriction around his chest as he does around his dick.

Jared growls and moans, fights his way through the penetration until he’s full and Jensen’s fingers are gripping his hips, holding him steady. Jensen, on the other hand, is fighting not to pull out, knowing it’s too much but not caring because _Jared_ is all he’s able to feel. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that until now, so deep in Jared that their breathing syncs up as they suck down the same air.

The shade of Sam Winchester has darkened their doorway for almost a month, but tonight Jensen opens his eyes and sees only Jared.

He thrusts and Jared curls his shoulders forward, dropping his forehead into the cushion. His ass is up, nestled in the cradle of Jensen’s thighs, and his spine points Jensen down to where Jared’s hair is sweat-matted and curled along the back of his neck. Following the direction of his vertebrae, Jensen folds himself over Jared’s back, fucking him in long, controlled strokes to walk them away from the edges of pain and pleasure, respectively.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jensen asks, lips brushing Jared’s sideburns. His tongue licks up the sweat.

Jared moans, turning his head but their lips are still separated. “Just want you to fuck me.”

“I _love_ fucking you.” The words slip out, dripping from Jensen’s lips into Jared’s mouth. They’re true, stark and crude, but something in them causes Jared to snap, twisting his body so that their lips finally meet. Teeth gnashing, tongues trying to stay out of the way as Jared bites at Jensen’s lower lip and pulls him closer.

Jensen can feel the tension in Jared’s spine, the awkward position pulling them out of rhythm. But Jensen can’t stop; he fucks Jared through the kiss, bodies coming together in violent claps of flesh on flesh. It’s too intense to hold, and eventually Jared breaks off with a gasp that shudders through his entire body. Jensen rears up onto his knees, pinning Jared to the couch and nailing his prostate with the fresh angle. He’s that much closer to coming every time Jared screams, and Jensen knows with certainty that he won’t outlast Jared.

In seconds, Jensen’s lost to the haze of orgasm, fucking Jared with his come adding to the mess inside and around them, pounding until every last shiver is spent and Jared is practically sobbing beneath him. There’s no fight when Jensen pulls out and helps Jared onto his back, hazel eyes desperate and unseeing until Jensen dives forward and swallows his cock. Jared snaps back into the moment, fingers reaching for the leather straps across Jensen’s shoulders and tugging. 

Jensen submits and sucks Jared with messy, choking slurps, waiting for Jared’s body to go rigid. It does, and Jensen braces for a mouthful as Jared comes in half a dozen hard bursts. He swallows everything, arching his back into Jared’s kneading fingers.

When they’re both breathing normally, Jared continues his gentle massage while he helps Jensen out of the holster. He kisses the red lines circling under Jensen’s armpit, over his shoulders. There’s no pain, but the gesture fills Jensen—the parts of him not yet overheated, anyway—with warmth.

Silence reigns for long moments afterward, Jensen tucked back-to-chest with Jared on the couch. So much hangs between them and Jensen doesn’t want to deal with any of it, but that’s not a luxury he gets to indulge in tonight.

“When are you gonna stop?” Jensen feels the question more than he hears it, familiar with the way Jared blows the words across his cheek. The melancholy rolls back over Jensen like a wave, previously held back by Jared’s great wall of sand. “He’s not out there.”

“I know,” Jensen whispers. “Maybe I want him to be.”

Jared shakes his head against Jensen’s shoulder. “No you don’t. He’s safe in California.”

“Is he?”

“We would know if he suddenly dropped out. Nick would have called,” Jared assures him, referring to Sam’s History professor, a classmate from Jared’s Stanford years. “I know you think Dean’s dangerous—”

“He is,” Jensen insists, turning in Jared’s arms and bringing them nose to nose. “You saw Sam that morning. He didn’t want to leave with Dean.”

Jared pets softly down his spine as if he could smooth away Jensen’s irritation. “I think it was shock. He left us a voicemail, remember?”

Jensen can hear Sam’s voice, tempered and quiet, from the message he has yet to delete from their machine.

_Sorry about Dean, but I need time to explain about you and Jared.  
I’m okay, Jensen. I’ll call you guys when things are settled._

He’d called back half a dozen times before he realized Sam wasn’t going to answer, and Jared had admitted that things were no different when he tried to email Sam at his Stanford address.

“They’re brothers,” Jared says, “and walking in on something like that had to be hard on Dean. We all reacted in the worst ways possible.”

“He hasn’t called.”

“He will,” Jared says, intending it to be a promise but Jensen hears the hope. “He needs time, and so do we.”

Jensen meets Jared’s gaze, finding the sorrow though it’s well hidden behind the gleam of sated lust. He’d apologize if he thought it would help anything, but there are better ways to fix things between them. Ways like tonight, and giving all of himself to Jared and getting nothing less in return.

Jared tilts forward, forehead pressed against Jensen’s. “No more late drives?”

Jensen sighs. He can’t give up on Sam, but he stands to lose more than a boy who was just growing into himself if he continues down the same road. Trusting Jared’s decision for both of them—and trusting that Sam will stay true to his message—Jensen nods.

“No more.”

***

The number is blocked. Jensen looks at the caller ID and frowns, letting the phone ring three times before his hand grabs the receiver.

“Hello?”

There’s no response, but Jensen knows the line’s not dead. His office is quiet, and he can just make out the sound of breathing on the other end.

“Answer me or I’m hanging up,” he says, letting aggravation get the better of him until another possibility occurs to him, one that kicks his senses into high gear. “Sam?”

The even breathing deepens into a laugh that rolls over Jensen like a bitter wind—it’s not a pleasant sound.

“Is this Jensen?”

He places the voice immediately, transported back to the scene in a hotel room nearly two months ago. Closing his eyes, Jensen pictures a flash of green and a broken door, Sam’s shock as it slowly turned to panic. The stranger in the doorway, an angry face that, for Jensen, was like staring into a funhouse trick mirror.

Jensen swallows and waits for the inevitable.

“This is Dean Winchester. We need to talk.”

 

FIN.


End file.
